


Routine

by ras_elased



Category: Dawson's Creek, Thoughtcrimes
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-15
Updated: 2007-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ras_elased/pseuds/ras_elased
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendan's life has a familiar routine. That is, until he meets Vincent, and then that routine gets shot to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Routine

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prequel to my earlier fic, [Yours and Mine](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/4297.html), about how Brendan and Vincent meet. It assumes you have at least a working knowledge of the characters, so if you're not familiar with the characters, they are both played by Joe Flanigan. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[fic: routine](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20routine), [genre: romance](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20romance), [pairing: brendan/vincent](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20brendan%2Fvincent), [rating: nc-17](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/rating%3A%20nc-17)  
  
  
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**Routine**   
_

Title: Routine  
Author: Ras Elased  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: Brendan's life has a familiar routine. That is, until he meets Vincent, and then that routine gets shot to hell.  
Pairing: Brendan/Vincent (Thoughtcrimes/Dawson's Creek)  
Author's notes: This is the prequel to my earlier fic, [Yours and Mine](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/4297.html), about how Brendan and Vincent meet. It assumes you have at least a working knowledge of the characters, so if you're not familiar with the characters, they are both played by Joe Flanigan. 

  


The main characters in a nutshell:  
Brendan Dean: NSA Agent. Uptight. Dorky. Workaholic. Adorably sexy. A little paranoid, but that comes with the job, and from hanging around Freya.

Freya McAllister: Brendan's partner. Telepath. Tougher than she looks. Smart. Big heart. Big smile.

Vincent: Huge flirt. Very suave and sexy. Confident. Not afraid to go after what he wants. Moves around the country, doing odd jobs and saving up for law school. Almost hooked up with a drag queen in New Orleans.

  
Video clips:  
A few clips of Joe Flanigan's character Vincent from Dawson's Creek: [clip 1](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=PKLFRAX8), [clip 2](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=FTFSHDD8), [clip 3](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=I183ASWJ)  
A short [clip](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=BXRBH65I) of Brendan from Thoughtcrimes!

   


  


~~~

 

Every morning, Brendan followed the same routine. His alarm went off at precisely nine minutes to six, so he could hit the snooze button once before rolling out of bed. Five minutes in the shower, ten if he had to deal with some morning 'business,' and then he was dressed and out the door by six thirty, usually carrying the newspaper and something to eat in the car on his way to work. He stopped off at the coffee shop along the way, picking up a latte from the barista who knew his order by heart: tall, plain latte for himself, and white chocolate mocha with cinnamon and whipped cream for Freya if they'd finished a case and he was feeling magnanimous.

 

He spent a good fifteen to twenty minutes every morning cleaning out his e-mail, clicking through ads for male enhancement and low-interest loans while he drank his coffee. This particular morning it took him thirty, only because he found out _someone_ had anonymously signed him up for an online dating site, and he spared several minutes to think horrible insults at Freya and sing the Felix the Cat theme song in his head several times. She just smiled back innocently.

 

Then he sifted through some requisition forms, making a note to ask for more paperclips and trying very, very hard not to think about his love life. Okay, so it hadn't worked out with Freya's sister. He was reasonably young, and everybody his age had their fair share of bad relationships. And he wasn't looking, anyway. He liked being alone. Nobody to worry about except himself and whether to have take-out or a frozen pizza while he watched the newest episode of House.

 

It was at that moment that Brendan realized how pathetic his life was, and thought despairingly, 'God, I need to get laid.'

 

At the desk next to Brendan's, Freya choked on her coffee.

 

~~~

 

Harper called a team meeting later that day. He briefed them all about a man named Mike Sheridan, who had disappeared while out on parole from Miami where he was convicted of arson. He'd been spotted in New York, working as a local bartender under the name Vincent Palmer. They'd had him under surveillance for a while, and suspected he'd developed a connection to several of the criminal elements who frequented the bar. They were hoping to arrest him on parole violation, then strike a deal as an informant.

 

As soon as Brendan opened the file, he noticed the mug shot paper-clipped to the front page. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then Brendan looked up and glanced warily around the table to see everyone's eyes locked on him. Grimacing, he said, "The first person to make an evil twin joke has to fill out my requisition forms for the next week." Everyone's eyes snapped back to the folders in front of them.

 

Harper didn't even raise an eyebrow. "Agent Dean, I'd like you to head up the strike force on this one." Brendan just nodded.

 

~~~

 

They staked out Mike's apartment for three hours, waiting for him to show up. He lived in a low-rent apartment with a cross-dresser named Candy Stalks, who had moved to New York from New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. Brendan had seen several women enter and leave the building since they'd set up the stake out, but none of them looked like what Brendan thought cross-dressers should look like. And checking out all those women had earned him several good-natured yet disgusted slaps from Freya, and it wasn't improving his outlook on the dating scene.

 

Then, finally, Mike made his appearance. The team was out of their cars and surrounding him before he even had a chance to blink. Brendan reached him first, taking him by surprise and slamming him face first against the brick wall of the building. "Ow! What the hell do you—"

 

"Mike Sheridan, you're under arrest for parole violation," Brendan said in a clipped tone, twisting Mike's arm behind his back and slapping a handcuff over one wrist, then the other.

 

"Mike _who_? Look, I think you've got the wrong—"

 

"You have the right to remain silent," Brendan continued, keeping him pinned to the wall and kicking his legs farther apart. He continued reciting the Miranda rights from his flawless memory, running his hands over Mike's body as he frisked him. Once he'd checked the man's back, he roughly turned him around and frisked his front side, absently noting there was a slight bulge to the guy's jeans. He kept his hands far, far away from that, wishing he hadn't noticed.

 

When he was certain the suspect was secure, he grabbed Mike's elbow and started hauling him towards the waiting squad car. He dragged his feet a little and stumbled into Brendan's side, then stayed pressed against him for just a fraction too long. "You know, normally I'd make you buy me dinner before I'd let you manhandle me," he said, grinning slightly.

 

Brendan just glared. "I'm sure I mentioned the _silent_ part," he said, then held the back of Mike's head as he shoved him into the squad car.

 

~#~

 

"Look, I really don't know who this Mike guy is. My name is Vincent. Vincent Palmer. And that's all those prints are going to tell you."

 

Freya watched as Brendan finished fingerprinting Vincent—and yes, she knew he was Vincent, not Mike. She really should have halted the interrogation right there, but something about Brendan's thoughts stopped her. She'd been focusing on Vincent, trying to read him for information, when her gaze flicked to Brendan. She had the brief flash of hands on his body—strong, _male_ hands. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed her partner was attracted to men, but usually it was only vague, fuzzy background noise with an undercurrent of curiosity. She sometimes wondered if Brendan was even aware of those thoughts.

 

But this was much more defined, a concrete thought that Brendan had to be aware of. It was only there for a split second, before he noticed her eyes on him and thought fiercely, 'What are you doing? You're supposed to be reading him, not me!'

 

Brendan's thoughts had been maddeningly quiet after that. He seemed intensely focused on fingerprinting Vincent, gently rolling each finger into the ink pad and then over the fingerprint card, leaving a perfect set of whirls and loops. Freya had to bite her lip, because as much as Brendan was trying to bury it right now, those were the hands he'd imagined on his body.

 

Freya had been trying to set Brendan up ever since her sister, June, had decided it wasn't going to work out between them. She hated the way Brendan's thoughts tended towards morose self-pity when he thought she wasn't around to hear them. So far, her matchmaking hadn't had much success. But maybe she was just looking in the wrong place.

 

"Take that to processing," Brendan said to the officer at the door, handing him the fingerprint card and the file. When he turned back, he looked at Freya. 'Anything?' he thought.

 

Freya realized she hadn't been paying attention to Vincent. Shaking her head minutely, she watched as Brendan came to sit next to her at the interrogation table, then turned to face Vincent, catching the tail end of his internal monologue. '—thought I was just an open-minded guy. Apparently I'm at least a Kinsey 1.' Freya had to bite back a smile when she realized he was staring rather intently at her partner. This might be easier than it looked.

 

"Clean yourself up," Brendan said gruffly, handing Vincent an orange cloth to wipe the ink from his fingers. Vincent raised an eyebrow and took it. His hands were cuffed and resting against the table top, but he worked methodically to clean the ink away, rubbing the cloth over long, athletic fingers. When Brendan didn't say anything else after a few minutes, Freya chanced a look in his direction. He was staring hard at Vincent's hands as he thought, '—not _that_ hard up. What the hell is _wrong_ with me?' With a self-conscious glance at Freya, he sat forward in his chair, shoulders tense. "Look, why don't we cut through all the pleasantries. We know about the contacts."

 

"Contacts?" Vincent frowned.

 

Brendan didn't speak, just opened the folder in front of him and started flipping out pictures. Each one was a mug shot or a surveillance photo of one of the suspects the NSA was tracking. Each one had been spotted at the bar where Vincent worked.

 

Freya watched him, making note of which faces he recognized and which he didn't, which were regulars and which had only been in once or twice, presumably to do business with the bar owner. "What's this all about?" he asked.

 

"You've seen these men before," Freya said, though it wasn't a question. "What can you tell us about them?"

 

Vincent took another look at the pictures, and Freya could tell he was gathering his thoughts. "I'll tell you whatever I can, but first I need to know what's going on."

 

"I'll tell you what this is about," Brendan said smoothly. "You've had contact with every single one of these men," he tapped two fingers against the file. "And we suspect you've been running deals with them. Tell us what they are, and we'll cut you a break."

 

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Vincent said, running his cuffed hands over his face in disbelief. 'How do I keep getting myself in these situations?' he thought. "Look, I'm not some sort of criminal running underground scams. I'm just trying to put myself through law school. I work at the bar because the job is easy, I get to flirt with the customers, and the tips are good. I had no idea the owner was involved in mafia deals or whatever."

 

Brendan narrowed his eyes, first at Vincent at then at Freya. 'A little help here?' he thought, but before she could really feel guilty for letting it go on this long, there was a knock at the door. Brendan stood and answered it, and Freya heard the guard say, "We've got a problem."

 

Brendan and the officer held a muffled conversation, but Freya couldn't tell what they were saying, because Vincent was very loudly checking out her partner's ass. 'Mmm, yeah, very sexy. I bet he works out.' And wow, Freya didn't think a naked Brendan actually looked quite how Vincent pictured him, but the image was hot enough that she had to catch her breath.

 

"Uh, Mr. Palmer," Brendan's voice interrupted Vincent's thoughts. "It seems, uh, you were telling the truth. The fingerprint results just came back, and we apologize." Inside Brendan's head, his thoughts were running a mile a minute, and nearly every other sentence was, 'I am so screwed.'

 

Vincent just smirked. "Told ya."

 

Brendan grimaced, then fished out his handcuff keys. "Agent Malone will finish up with the rest of your paperwork, and then you're free to go." He knelt down by Vincent's chair and reached out to unlock the cuffs, but as Brendan's hand wrapped around one wrist, Vincent extended his fingers and very deliberately brushed his knuckles over the inside of Brendan's forearm. Both men froze, and Freya could hear their thoughts practically screaming in her head, barely holding back from their desperate desire to touch, to pull the other close until their mouths met, slick and hot.

 

Vincent broke the silence, his voice a little deeper than before. "It's too bad I'll be quitting that job. If you'd come into the bar, I would have made you something special." Freya received a sudden flash of the two of them spread out naked across the top of the bar, thrusting wildly against each other, Brendan's head thrown back and mouth opened in a gasp. She squirmed and gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles.

 

"Yeah," Brendan said, swallowing thickly as he unlocked the second cuff. "Too bad."

 

~~~

 

"Harper's gonna have a field day with this," Brendan sulked.

 

Freya laid a comforting hand on his arm, feeling a twinge of guilt. "Look, I'm sure it'll be fine. It was an honest mistake."

 

Brendan frowned. "You really couldn't read anything off him?" he asked quietly.

 

Freya couldn't meet his eyes. "His thoughts were all…jumbled. I only caught a few phrases."

 

Brendan shot her a dubious look. Before Freya could say anything else, they heard Vincent's voice. "Agent Dean! Just the man I was looking for," he grinned.

 

Brendan ran a frustrated hand over the back of his neck. "Look, if you want to file a complaint, you'll have to—"

 

"Actually," Vincent interrupted, leaning one hip against Brendan's desk and standing just a little too close, "I was thinking you still owe me dinner."

 

She watched Brendan's face turn a startlingly endearing shade of crimson as he thought, 'Oh god, there's no way—stay out of my head Freya—I shouldn't, but god, I want—no—Freya! Privacy, please!' Stammering, Brendan said, "I, uh, I don't think—"

 

"Ah, c'mon," Vincent smirked. "I got shoved up against the wall and accosted. I think I deserve a little something for my trouble."

 

Before Brendan could get started up again, Freya saw her chance and said, "How about lasagna?" Both men raised their eyebrows at her. "Brendan makes _fantastic_ lasagna," she added, then grabbed a post-it and scribbled down Brendan's address and phone number, then handed it to a slightly stunned Vincent. "Seven o'clock, his place."

 

'FREYA!' Brendan's voice boomed in her head, but she just smiled sweetly.

 

Even Vincent was a little overwhelmed. But after a second, he glanced at Brendan's flabbergasted expression and smiled. "I'll be there," he said, then turned to leave. And Freya had to look away because she did _not_ need to hear _those_ kinds of thoughts about her partner, thank you very much.

 

Brendan's look could have cracked glass. "What the _hell_, Freya!"

 

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Weren't you just thinking this morning about how you need to get laid? And trust me, that guy is a sure thing."

 

Brendan sputtered and had several sentences start up in his head, only to be cut off by another. Finally, he settled on, "That's not the point!"

 

"Oh, I think that's _exactly_ the point," Freya winked. "Besides," she said, giving him a teasing jab in his ribs, "I know you like him."

 

Brendan opened his mouth to protest, but Harper chose that moment to call out, "Agent Dean! My office, _now_."

 

~#~

 

Dinner, surprisingly, went off without a hitch, given how nervous Brendan was beforehand. He'd nearly called Vincent to cancel three times, chickening out each time before he'd finished dialing. Then he rehearsed several ways to turn Vincent away at the door. 'Something came up at work…I have a family emergency…I'm not into _men_.' But then Vincent showed up in a navy blue t-shirt and stonewashed jeans, holding a bottle of merlot, and he decided he'd have to suffer through it, just so Freya couldn't harass him about it tomorrow.

 

Although, Brendan had to admit, he hadn't been doing much suffering during dinner. Vincent was so at ease from the moment he walked through the door that it soothed Brendan's first-date, what-the-hell-am-I-doing jitters. Though Brendan suspected that maybe the wine could also have contributed to his sudden mellow attitude. Well, that and the fact that he'd been distracting himself by watching Vincent's mouth as he ate.

 

After dinner, they just sat around talking, finishing off the last of the wine, and Vincent had somehow managed to get Brendan to tell him the story of the first arrest he'd had to make, straight out of Quantico. "So the guy's been holding these hostages for a couple of hours now, and he's starting to realize that he's not going to make it out of there with both the cash and his freedom. Then he comes up with this bright idea to stuff the cash down the front of his pants and pretend to be a released hostage. And the thing is, it would have worked," Brendan smiled, "if the dye pack hadn't exploded in his pants."

 

Vincent snorted into his wine glass, but somehow it didn't throw off his cool demeanor. Smiling, one elbow propped on the back of the chair, he winced in mock sympathy and muttered a heartfelt, "Ouch."

 

"You have no idea," Brendan grinned back. "It happened right after he'd been cleared. He just started hopping and jumping around and grabbing his crotch, and as soon as I saw the purple stain from the dye I figured it out. Everyone else was still standing around gawking at him, and I just took off running. I tackled him and managed to subdue him and get the cuffs on before anyone else had even figured out what was going on," he finished, smiling proudly.

 

"That doesn't surprise me," Vincent replied, eyes sparkling. "I was on the receiving end of that particular skill this afternoon. You were very…efficient." One corner of his mouth turned up wickedly.

 

Brendan grimaced. "Yeah, look, about that…"

 

"If you're going to apologize, don't," Vincent interjected. "Simple case of mistaken identity. Besides, I'm not exactly complaining," he added, raising one eyebrow. "In fact, if I ever see this Mike guy, I just might have to thank him."

 

Brendan had to look away from Vincent's wolfish grin, struggling not to fidget and frantically wracking his brain for something to break the silence. "You know, Freya thinks we look alike." Brendan internally winced as his voice cracked. 'Smooth, Brendan. Do you even know the _meaning_ of suave?'

 

But Vincent just shrugged casually. "I guess we do. I don't really see it though."

 

"Yeah, I at least look like I own a razor," Brendan agreed, then fought the urge to smack himself in the forehead. Damn it, he always got a little snappish when he was nervous, and the wine only served to loosen the filter between his brain and his mouth.

 

Vincent just smirked and raised one hand to his jaw line, running the backs of his fingers absently over his stubble. "At least I have better hair," he shot back, teasing. "I think you might be going a little grey," he added, reaching out to touch two fingers lightly to Brendan's temple. As soon as Vincent's fingertips made contact, Brendan's breath instantly hiccoughed in his chest, and his eyes fluttered closed as he involuntarily leaned into the touch. When he opened his eyes, he found that Vincent's perpetual smirk had vanished, replaced with an intense, almost hungry look. His eyes were fixated on Brendan's lips, and Brendan didn't even realize he'd flicked his tongue out to wet them until Vincent's hand cupped his jaw and began pulling their faces closer together.

 

Brendan panicked. Pulling back sharply, his voice cracked pathetically as he asked, "Do you want some more wine?" He grabbed both their glasses and made a beeline for the kitchen, where they'd left the wine after clearing the table.

 

He made it halfway across the room before he felt a hand clamp down on his elbow, and his body completely betrayed him as it turned on its own to face Vincent. "Brendan," he said, voice low and sultry in ways that made his traitorous body react. Vincent brought both hands up to either side of Brendan's face, holding him steady, and Brendan couldn't even push him away because he was still holding a wine glass in each hand. When Vincent pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, Brendan sucked in a shuddering breath through his nose, feeling like he was going to fly apart at the seams. He gave in instantly, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss, and suddenly the wine glasses in his hands were burdensome for a different reason. He let them slip from his fingers, uncaring as they spilled their contents across his white carpet. He'd hire some cleaners to get the stain out later. Right now all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around Vincent and pull him closer, to feel the muscles of his back flex through the thin material of his t-shirt.

 

Vincent's stubble was rough as it scratched across Brendan's clean-shaven skin, the newness of the sensation setting off fireworks in his belly. He leaned impossibly further into the kiss, Vincent's tongue invading his mouth as his hands drifted down to cup Brendan's ass through his slacks. He squeezed a little, then pulled their clothed erections together. The hint of delicious friction made Brendan moan into his mouth, hands fisting tightly into the back of Vincent's shirt as he fought to regain his rapidly fading control.

 

Vincent released his mouth, tipping Brendan's head back with one hand so he could press kisses along the underside of his jaw. When he reached the juncture of jaw and throat, he nuzzled against the soft skin and inhaled deeply. "God, you smell good," he said, voice so low Brendan could feel the rumbling vibrations in his chest. He opened his mouth to reply, but then Vincent's tongue flicked over his pulse point and whatever the hell he was going to say fell away to oblivion. "Mmm. You taste good too." One hand snaked across his chest and began deftly undoing the buttons on Brendan's shirt. "I wonder if all of you tastes this good," he said, grinning wickedly into the skin of Brendan's neck. He began sucking down the line of his throat, dragging out small, panting whimpers. By the time he reached the spot where Brendan's neck met his shoulder, he dug his teeth in lightly, then pushed the shirt off Brendan's shoulders until it caught at his elbows, baring most of Brendan's upper body to Vincent's roving lips and tongue. When Vincent sucked one of Brendan's nipples into his hot, slick mouth, Brendan threw his head back and gasped, arching his back into the touch, greedy for more. It was that reaction that made Brendan realize he had to regain control of the situation.

 

"Vincent," he breathed, groaning shakily as his other nipple was given the same treatment. "Vincent," he tried again, a little firmer. "We have to stop."

 

Vincent froze, hands and lips still on Brendan's skin. After one torturous second, he slowly stood, searching Brendan's face. "Okay, in my experience, those words have always preceded some sort of shocking revelation," he said warily. "You're not going to tell me you're married or something, are you?" he asked, looking askance at Brendan's left hand, checking for evidence of a ring.

 

"What?" Brendan scoffed. "No, of course not! You really think I'd…No!" he huffed angrily. "I've just…I've never done this sort of thing before, all right?" he finished with a shout.

 

Vincent furrowed his brows and frowned. "You've never had sex?"

 

"I've had sex!" Brendan protested vehemently. "Just not with another…with…you know." He motioned vaguely towards Vincent.

 

After a second, Vincent's mouth quirked into an almost indulgent smile. "You've never been with another man before, have you?" It wasn't really a question. Brendan rubbed at his temples, suddenly feeling a headache coming on. "Hey, it's okay," Vincent continued, reaching up to grasp Brendan's hands, running his thumbs lightly over his palms. "Neither have I."

 

Brendan's eyes snapped up in shock. "Uh…what? But you were so…"

 

Vincent chuckled, then shrugged, the cloth of his shirt doing nothing to hide the enticing shift of muscles at the action. "Sex is sex, and I'm usually willing to try just about anything once. But I've never been attracted enough to a man to try this out before." Settling his hands on Brendan's hips, he slowly reeled him in until they were chest to chest, giving Brendan plenty of time to pull away. But even if he wanted to, Brendan didn't think he could tear himself away from the way Vincent was looking at him. Vincent kissed him lightly, just a teasing brush of lips, and then he moved on to whisper against the shell of Brendan's ear, "Plus, I've spent the last six months listening to my gay roommate have sex through the wall. I'm curious to see what all the fuss is about." With a lick to the soft skin behind his ear, Brendan whimpered and allowed Vincent to peel his shirt the rest of the way off. He had a feeling that by the time Vincent was done with him, all of Brendan's neighbors would be wondering the same thing.

 

Vincent continued to kiss him, teasing his nipples lightly, letting Brendan rebuild their heat at his own pace. It didn't take long. Soon Brendan had his hands creeping up inside the hem of Vincent's t-shirt, fingers trailing along the smooth, warm skin he found there. Vincent pulled back with a smug, victorious grin, and stripped his shirt over his head before plunging in for another kiss. Brendan was briefly overwhelmed by the assault of so much skin pressed up against his naked chest, under his splayed fingers, and even the sweat-clean smell of Vincent's skin made his cock twitch in his pants. Then Vincent's hands slipped under the waistband of his slacks to cup his ass, and there went the last of the control Brendan had managed to regain. His hips stuttered forward of their own volition as he moaned loudly into Vincent's shoulder. One of Vincent's hands drifted around to grasp Brendan's aching cock, and he couldn't hold back the full on thrust into his palm, letting out a hiss that sounded like, "Oh, _yes_."

 

Vincent pressed one more kiss to his neck, tongue lapping at his skin, then said, "Well, if you're going to get impatient…" The next thing Brendan knew, Vincent was sliding to his knees, working diligently to open his fly. He shoved Brendan's pants and boxers down past his thighs, freeing his eager cock. Vincent took it into his mouth without any hesitation, and Brendan could have sworn he blacked and whited out at the same time, Vincent's strong hands on his hips the only thing keeping his knees from buckling in pleasure. He came back from the edge to feel Vincent moaning around the head of his cock, licking away his precome and dipping the tip of his tongue into the slit as if he'd never tasted anything better. Brendan dug his fingertips into Vincent's shoulders, his entire body shaking with the effort of holding off his orgasm. Brendan let out a plaintive cry when Vincent released the sweet suction around the head of his cock, licking his way up the shaft to tongue his balls. His stubble grazed the insides of his thighs as he sucked first one and then the other into his mouth, then ran the tip of his tongue over the soft skin even farther back. Brendan was breathing so hard by this point he was on the verge of hyperventilating, his chest feeling like it was about to burst with each ragged breath. With one last lick to the head, Vincent gave his balls a gentle tug and derailed his cresting orgasm. Brendan didn't know if he should be thankful or disappointed.

 

Vincent ran his hands over Brendan's body as he stood, murmuring happily, "Hmm, you do taste good all over." As if to prove it, he kissed Brendan, dirty and wet, letting him taste the salty, bitter taste of his own precome. Brendan should have found it disgusting, but instead he found himself hungrily sucking Vincent's tongue into his mouth, savoring the taste. Then Vincent stepped back, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Lose the pants. There's one more place I want to taste you."

 

Vincent began unbuttoning his own pants as Brendan stepped out of his, and then they were both naked, Brendan getting his first look at Vincent's rock hard cock. It was thick and full, red with blood, and Brendan wanted nothing more at that moment than to touch it, to feel the weight of it in his palm, to wrap his fingers around the shaft and pull. Vincent must have read something in his eyes, because he simply beckoned Brendan closer with one hand, smiling fondly as he said, "C'mere."

 

Brendan took a few steps closer and tentatively wrapped his hand around the velvety length. Encouraged by Vincent's low moan, he stroked it lightly, feeling it hot and heavy in his hand, pulsing in time with Vincent's rapid heartbeat. He increased the pace of each stroke, Vincent's breath coming in hot puffs against his neck. When he ran his thumb over the head it earned him a shuddering sigh, so he did it again, and was surprised when Vincent gently pulled his hand away. "Okay, if you keep doing that, this is going to be over way too soon." Brendan frowned, and Vincent wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him into a rough kiss. "Next time, I'll let you play with my cock all you want. But right now, I want to do this."

 

With another passionate kiss, Vincent edged him towards the table. "Turn around," he whispered, low and insistent. Brendan didn't even think about disobeying, just let Vincent line their bodies up so they were chest to back, Vincent's cock nestled in the cleft of his ass. Vincent took a minute to stroke the hair on Brendan's stomach, to kiss the skin behind his ear, then said, "Lean over."

 

He guided Brendan to lie face down on the table, stretching his hands out on either side, curling his fingers around the edge, gripping the slick tablecloth. Then he nudged Brendan's legs farther apart with one knee, a gentler mimicry of what Brendan had done to Vincent in the alley, when he'd slammed him up against that brick wall. Brendan spread his legs eagerly, making a note to be embarrassed about it later.

 

With one last instruction to hold still, Vincent began dragging kisses down Brendan's back. He started at the nape of his neck, sucking the skin lightly between his lips. He moved down the length of his spine, giving the same treatment to every bump along the line of his vertebrae, soft, warm, wet tongue contrasting sharply with the rough, dry scratch of stubble. By the time Vincent reached his tailbone, Brendan was thrusting minutely against the tablecloth, desperate for even the tiniest bit of friction, more turned on than he'd ever been in his life. Then Vincent's tongue dipped just past the top of his crack, and Brendan felt his breath stutter in his chest. He was pretty sure that if Vincent continued in the direction he was headed, he'd either have an aneurism or his heart would explode in his chest. Then Vincent spread his ass cheeks wide, and Brendan gripped the tablecloth with white knuckles, bracing himself.

 

The first hot spear of Vincent's tongue sent white hot sparks directly from Brendan's ass to his cock, and he cried out like he was in pain. But Vincent just spread him wider and shoved in farther, getting his tongue as deep as he could into Brendan's tight hole. Brendan felt a tidal wave of pleasure so intense it had him whimpering into the silky tablecloth, gripping the edges of the table tight enough to make his fingers cramp. Vincent's stubble was coarse against his sensitive skin, driving Brendan's pleasure to immeasurable heights as it scraped between his ass cheeks, Vincent's chin rubbing against the tender skin behind his balls. Brendan let out a long, uncontrolled moan when Vincent pressed the flat of his tongue to his hole, getting him good and wet before splitting him wide open, hot and slick and _oh_ _god_, Brendan never imagined feeling anything like this in his wildest fantasies. Vincent's tongue worked his ass, alternately licking and spitting and thrusting in deep, over and over again until Brendan thought he might die from it.

 

Then suddenly Vincent's tongue was gone, his saliva-slicked hole shockingly cold without the heat of Vincent's mouth pressed against it, and Brendan let out a mortifyingly needy sound. But Vincent was working his way towards the back of Brendan's balls, and when he sucked the skin there lightly into his mouth, Brendan saw stars dance behind his closed eyes and felt like he might pass out from the exquisite pleasure. Then Vincent was back to shoving his tongue into Brendan's ass, this time giving him a voracious, dirty, enthusiastic tongue lashing. Brendan's hips unconsciously rose to meet Vincent's mouth, then thrust against the sweet, sweet friction of the tablecloth, then returned to fucking himself on Vincent's tongue. Back and forth, over and over, letting out small, keening whimpers he didn't even know he was making, and god, it was too much, too good, and Brendan had to release one hand from its death grip on the table's edge so he could grab a fistful of the tablecloth and shove it into his mouth. He bit it between his teeth, hard, muffling the shockingly loud moan as he came, ass clenching around Vincent's tongue, cock spilling sticky fluid with each pulse, each spurt ripping the pleasure from every nerve ending in his body.

 

Distantly, he heard Vincent let out a low, guttural sound, and then he felt something hot and solid press between his ass cheeks. Belatedly, he realized Vincent was thrusting his cock along the slick, hot space, rubbing himself off against Brendan's ass. He let out small hitching noises each time the head of Vincent's cock dragged along his over-sensitized hole, teasing him, and Brendan had never in his life thought that might be something he'd want. Vincent's thrusts sped up, becoming more forceful and erratic until finally he came with a noise that almost made Brendan hard again. He felt warm fluid spill across his back, cooling quickly against his exposed, sweaty skin. Panting roughly, Vincent pressed a kiss between Brendan's shoulder blades and then rolled away. Without Vincent's weight pinning him to the table, Brendan slid to the floor in a boneless heap.

 

After a moment, Vincent joined him. One hand came up to wrap around the side of Brendan's neck, fingers threading through the short hair at the base of his skull, and Brendan couldn't help but lean into the touch. His lean turned into a full body sway and he all but face planted into Vincent's shoulder. Vincent just chuckled and held him in place, fingertips sliding through a little of the come still on Brendan's back. "So, I'd say we did pretty good for our first time having gay sex," he muttered into Brendan's hair. Brendan sighed in reply, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the hot, salty skin of Vincent's neck. He felt Vincent smile against his cheek before gently dislodging him. "You're going to make me drag you to bed, aren't you?" The next thing he knew, Brendan was being hauled unceremoniously to his feet. He proceeded on shaky legs to his bedroom, Vincent's arm wrapped around his waist for support.

 

~~~

 

The next morning Brendan's alarm went off at precisely nine minutes to six. But before he could slap the snooze button, an arm reached over his body and shut the damn thing off. The arm flopped down sleepily across his chest as a warm body settled against his back. "God, do you actually get up this early?" Vincent groaned into his neck.

 

Brendan smiled into his pillow when he felt Vincent's morning erection nudge against his back. "Apparently, I'm not the only one up this early," he said, pressing back firmly. Vincent's breath hitched a little. "Shower?" he asked, and felt Vincent nod.

 

Brendan's shower that morning took a lot longer than ten minutes, but he figured the hot water bill was worth it. It was nearly seven before he was finally dressed and ready to head out the door. Vincent stood in Brendan's kitchen, eating one of Brendan's bananas and wearing only a pair of Brendan's old sweatpants. "What time do you want me to come by tonight?" he asked with a sly grin.

 

"Uh," Brendan stuttered, momentarily distracted from his frantic attempt to rope his tie around his neck. He was going to be so late for work. "Seven o'clock still good for you?" he asked, trying to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.

 

Vincent leaned in close, smelling like Brendan's soap and ripe bananas. "Yeah, that's good," he murmured, then kissed Brendan slowly. His free hand snuck up the back of Brendan's jacket, untucking his shirt so he could scratch his nails lightly over the base of Brendan's spine. With a truly heroic force of will, Brendan pulled himself away from Vincent's touch, then licked his lips.

 

"There's…there's a spare set of keys under the mat. Will you lock up before you leave?" Vincent nodded, and Brendan hesitated a moment before giving him a quick kiss goodbye and heading out the door. He was halfway to work before he realized that: 1) he'd forgotten his newspaper, and 2) he'd just given the keys for his apartment to a man he'd known less than twenty-four hours.

 

He got to work over twenty minutes later than usual, but still well before he would be considered late. He set down a Grande white chocolate mocha with extra cinnamon and whipped cream on Freya's desk. She immediately turned to him with a wide grin. "I don't need to be a psychic to figure out _somebody_ got laid last night."

 

Brendan just rolled his eyes and ducked his head, trying very hard not to think about how Vincent had looked that morning in the shower, skin flushed from the water and Brendan's hand on his cock, wet eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he came. When Freya spit her mocha all over her computer screen, Brendan figured he'd been less than successful. Oddly, he couldn't quite bring himself to mind.

 

Sequel: [Yours and Mine](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/4297.html)


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